To the prettiest girl in America,
I got a hundred words to give you- those stingy bastards were only gonna give me ten, can you believe it? I talked 'em up to a hundred, though, don't worry. I can argue blood from a stone, isn't that what you always say? I don't got a lot of words left, damn it, always runnin' my mouth, so I'm gonna lay it out: I love you, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. There wasn't nothing anybody could do, but I'm sorry to go. A kiss to Baby, and your Ma.